The Porcelain Doll
by tbka
Summary: They say that children are resilient but when the strange green child of Munchkinland is raised in a household of violence, despair, and grief how will she cope? And when a child is forced to become a parent to their own parents how does that change them?
1. Prologue

_**Summary: **__They say that children are resilient but when the strange green child of Munchkinland is raised in a household of violence, despair, and grief how will she cope? And when a child is forced to become a parent to their own parents how does that change them? The story of Elphaba Thropp, the child that becomes the Wicked Witch of the West, is one that would cause even the coldest grown man to cry._

_**Genre: **__Drama/Angst_

_**Rating: **__T_

_**Author's Note: **__So here is the prequel to my expanding Wicked series. Unlike _Breathe: Book II_ this story has only a few chapters finished (so my updates will catch up to my writing very soon) and therefore updates will be far less regular than the updates for _Breathe_ are. This story is just to kind of take a break from _Breathe_ a little bit because that story's starting to get a little complicated with everyone all together again and the nice little despairing love triangle going on there. So, hopefully you shall enjoy this story and for those who are curious or are just starting to read my series here are the stories in the series in chronological order:_

The Porcelain Doll  
Loathing: The True Story Behind the Friendship of the Witches of Oz  
Breathe – Book I: Of the Emerald City  
Breathe – Book II: Of the Journey Back

_It is my intention that every story can be read as a stand-alone but some things are referenced between stories but a basic knowledge of the book and musical should be sufficient. And seeing as this is the prequel to the series there really is no need to read any of the other stories first as technically this is the first one._

_--  
_

**The Porcelain Doll**

--  
**Prologue: **

She remembered the day as if it was yesterday. She had turned her eyes away from little Nessa for only a moment but the next thing she knew the tiny toddler had succumbed herself completely under the water in the bathing pail and could not pull herself free from its suffocating grasp. She had screamed for her father and mother and Frex had come in mere moments. He pulled Nessa free and patted the child's back harshly as he held her close so that little Nessa could cough up the water she had accidentally swallowed.

That was the first time he had hit her. She remembered the shock that had coursed through her as the back of his hand had struck against her cheek. She remembered how she had cried out, and how that had only angered him further. She remembered the fury in his eyes and the bite of hate in his voice as he had screamed at her. She remembered how her cheek had stung for hours and how her lip had swelled up from the force of his strike against her.

She remembered it all as clearly as it had happened yesterday. But it hadn't. It had happened years ago now. So many, many years ago that it was hard to place them. She was old now, far too old to be dwelling on the past but as she looked at the porcelain doll sitting on the dusty dresser of Nessa's room she could not help but remember. It was Nest Hardings, it was the old Eminent Thropp house – dilapidated and worn from the lack of care over the years, it was Nessa's room. If she closed her eyes and breathed as deeply as her tired lungs could allow her to she swore she could still smell Nessa's scented powder in the air. If she concentrated hard enough she could almost see her sister standing before her in her magicked jeweled shoes.

A green hand reached out and gently caressed the side of the cracked doll's face. The once snow-white porcelain had turned brown, stained with dirt and age, and the nose was missing completely. A leg sat at an odd angle and the clothes were crumpled and wrinkled. It was a tiny doll, meant for a child, and she could not believe that Nessa had held on to it for her entire life but yet here it was, sitting before her. Its face was as meticulously painted on as she remembered it to be, its lips as cherry red as ever.

"Mother?" Two hands, neither pale nor dark-skinned, reached out to take a shaking green arm in their grasp for support. "Mother, are you well?"

"This doll is from my childhood," she said, her voice harsh and raspy in her age.

"Does it hold good memories?"

"Good and bad." She wheezed slightly as her lungs struggled to breathe as she stood. If she would only sit down she would feel so much better but she was as stubborn as ever and refused to show such a weakness even though there was no one around that she needed to impress or prove wrong.

Her eyes slid shut and she searched through her past in her mind as if she were browsing a book. "I'm glad we came here," she eventually muttered.

"You're not going to be able to fly home, are you?"

She laughed but the sound was cut short by a ragged cough. When she had gathered her bearings again she replied with a simple, "No."

"What shall happen to me then?"

She opened her eyes then and brown eyes stared into blue. "Oh, Mirelle, little Mirelle," she muttered. "You're not so little anymore, are you?"

"No, no I'm not."

"I wish Glinda could see you now, and Fiyero. Oh, how proud they would be of you." She brought her hand up and laid it against the side of the child's face. The green skin had garnered a strange yellow hue due to the sickness that plagued her body and it looked strange against the not-quite-dark skin of the half-Vinkus child.

"You raised me, they'd be proud of you too."

"The only good thing I've achieved in my life has been raising you properly. Everyone else I failed but… but you, you turned out like you should have."

"What shall I do with the Grimmerie when you are gone?"

"It goes to you, I assume."

"You know I cannot read it."

"Well, then I guess you'll just have to learn, won't you? For both of us, for all of us." She chuckled at that. "I told your mama the same thing once, when we were just young. Long ago, before that Dorothy child melted me. I'm sure you've heard the tales."

"Yes. Look, mother, you should sit."

She nodded and let Mirelle lead her from the dresser and to a large leather chair in the corner of the room. She sat down and Mirelle kneeled beside the chair, letting her hand rest on the wrinkled green skin of the old woman's arm.

"I can't believe you managed to fly us both here in your old age." Mirelle was in awe, she was shocked at the power the green woman still held within her.

"It's called magick for a reason," she said as she turned her head from Mirelle to stare at the wall. "I only wish I could have given you my powers but such things did not happen for you are not mine. And though I love Glinda dearly she never really held much aptitude for sorcery, did she?" She laughed and for a moment seemed lost in old memories of school lesson's gone wrong before shaking her head and returning to the present. "The broom," she whispered, suddenly remembering where she was in her life and how her time was running short, "the broom, I suppose, shall go to whomever it will allow to take it. I fear I magicked it alive and who knows what will happen to it when I am gone." She shrugged. "It might lose its powers completely, I cannot say, but do not try to force it to your will. It will not allow such a thing, do you understand? Let it be what it wants, okay?"

Mirelle nodded but upon realizing that her mother was not looking at her she voiced her response with a quiet, "Yes, it shall be left to its own devices when you are gone."

"Good."

"You're really dying, aren't you?"

She turned her head to look at Mirelle and the sadness she saw in the child's eyes scared her. "I'm afraid so," she said; barely audible. "But do not fret my child, it will be okay. We did good, don't you see? We all did, even those we lost." She closed her eyes then to keep her burning tears at bay as the grief and guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. "I only hope that I will see them again, each and every one. You don't realize how many friends you've had until they are all gone."

"It's too soon!" Mirelle suddenly shouted and her voice was choked, frantic. "I'm not ready to say goodbye!"

She opened her eyes. "Don't you see I'm tired? I'm the last of my friend's left, which shouldn't surprise me much for it was always me that bore the brunt of the pain, but still… it is hard to watch all the ones you care for die. I wish to see them again, I hope to see them again, and maybe I will, maybe I won't. But you must understand Mirelle… the world no longer needs me and it's your turn to shine. So shine bright, okay? For every one we lost was to save you, remember that, and cherish our memories because it's all you shall have when I am gone."

"But… but… but mother!"

"Life has been harsh to me my child, far harsher than you could ever imagine, and part of me is still bitter about the injustices done to me. I've been tired of life for a very long time, since before you were born, yet I held on for as long as I could to see you raised well. And here you are, exceeding expectations I could never have even fathomed. Your parents would be proud."

"The people say you were a prostitute."

The words were harsh, almost like a slap, and the green woman inhaled sharply; closed her eyes. "What makes you say such ugly things now?"

"I don't want you to die without me knowing," Mirelle whispered and it was clear that she felt guilty for what she had just said previously. "I mean… I just… well… I guess I'm curious. And maybe, maybe I could learn something if you told me, you know, about your life."

"It's a long story."

"We have time still, don't we?"

She opened her eyes and smiled softly. "A little time is left now, here at the end. Perhaps it would be good for me to say my part, to let the people know why I turned out like I did. You'll tell them for me then, will you? Perhaps in a book. You are awfully good at words you know."

"If that is your wish mother then I shall. If you ask me to write of your story then I will. But I must hear the story first, will you tell me?"

"Some warmed milk would be in order for such a long tale, don't you think? And you need a chair too. Then I'll begin, okay?"

Mirelle nodded and left the room. An hour later they sat across from each other at the old dining table with its uneven legs and high-backed chairs. Mirelle had a cup of tea and papers strewn about her to record what she might forget while the old green woman had a cup of warmed milk and her memories.

"My first vivid memory is of Nessarose's, my sister's, birth," she began, "and, as it always was on fateful days in my life, it was raining…"


	2. The Birth of Resentment

_"My first vivid memory is of Nessarose's, my sister's, birth," she began, "and, as it always was on fateful days in my life, it was raining…"_

--  
**Chapter One: The Birth of Resentment  
**

The rain poured in rivulets from the sky. The young green child, barely three, sat on a tree stump just outside the door with an old umbrella shielding her from the threatening water that came from the sky. The thunder that rolled overhead drowned out the painful screams that came from within the house.

She didn't know how long she sat out there for time was still a concept that her young mind could not grasp but eventually the door to the house was thrown open. "Come in," came an angry voice and the child stood up, picked her way through the mud puddles as she made her way to the house. The man that stood at the door ushered her in and took the umbrella from her, set it on the nearby table.

"Is mama okay?"

"Quiet Fabala!" he snapped out as he took a green hand in his own and led the child down the hall.

"Papa?"

"I said quiet!"

The child fell silent and asked no more questions as she let her father take her to where he wanted her to go. He opened the door to his room and the child, though young, smelled something strange in the air. It was blood but she did not know that at her tender age and no one cared to tell her. She let out a whimper of shock when her father scooped her up in his arms and brought her to the bed where a woman, pale and with her breathing far too shallow, laid in unconsciousness.

"Mama?" the child asked as she reached out her arms to the woman. Her father set her down on the bed and the child crawled up to her mother's face, snuggled herself against her body. "Mama?"

"Your little sister will never walk."

The child looked up at her father and though she heard his words she did not understand them. Language was not something she held a firm grasp on and time was but a fleeting thought to her. She did not understand what 'never' meant so she had no idea why her father was so sad.

When he got no response from his daughter Frex grabbed her arm and harshly pulled her from the bed. She cried out and cowered as he raised his hand, made to strike her, but caught himself at the last moment. He let his hand drop to his side limply and let go of his daughter's arm. She stumbled backwards in fear before scrambling back up on the bed and laying down beside her sleeping mother.

"Go 'way," the green child muttered and her confusing emotions within her caused the room to darken slightly and the air to grow cold. Frex grimaced as such a thing was not uncommon but he did not like it and did not like what it implied – that his daughter was a sorceress. He left then to see to his newborn child with her tangled legs and weak body so that he could fool himself into ignoring the powers that laid within his strange green child that had become a curse on his life.

Elphaba let her eyes slide shut as she curled herself around her mother. She felt comfortable around her even though her mother had never showed her much affection. The child did not care though for in her mind she was starved for love and if the only love she received was through snuggling up to her unconscious mother than she was going to soak up as much of that false love that she could. She knew that as soon her mother would awaken that there would be no longer any affection shown towards her so she was determined to get as much love as she could when she was able to.

The green child fell asleep but was harshly awoken a few hours later as her mother pushed her away. "What are you doing here child?" Melena hissed out and Elphaba looked up at her through hazy, sleep-filled eyes.

"Mama?" she questioned as she held out her arms; clearly begging for the attention she was desperately lacking.

Melena huffed and ignored the child as she gingerly sat herself up, leaning her back against the wall behind her bed, and reached for the pile of pinlobble leaves on the night-table left there earlier by the midwives. Elphaba watched in curiosity as her mother chewed the plant leaves that soon sent her floating away from reality. The child tried to crawl closer to her mother but once again Melena pushed her away in annoyance.

"Frex!" Melena shouted but her voice was choked and slurred from the pain of childbirth that still lingered in her body and the pinlobble leaves that took her away from the world. "Frex!"

He came running at the call of his name and entered the room rather harshly. "My dear Melena, you're awake!" he exclaimed in joy as he went to her side. He brushed past his green daughter as she held out her arms to be picked up and instead took Melena's hand in his own. "Melena, my darling, how are you feeling?"

"The baby, is she well?"

Frex's face fell in despair and he averted his eyes to the ground, let go of Melena's hand. "She is terribly weak," he eventually muttered, "which, of course, is to be expected of one born so early. But her, well, the midwives said she will most likely never walk. Her legs, they're tiny and tangled and not as developed as they should be."

Melena frowned and considered what Frex had said for a few long minutes. "There is nothing to be done?" she asked quietly.

"For now all we can do is pray. She is beautiful though. And, unlike Fabala was, very well-tempered. She is sleeping peacefully now, and is a lovely perfect little thing despite her legs."

"No green?"

"Not even a hint of such a terrible colouring. She has a perfectly pale complexion, it really is quite wonderful."

"I was sure it would be a boy."

"You were just as sure with Fabala as well. But no matter, we shall love her just the same. She is beautiful, and you will see that when you are well enough to get out of bed. Do not worry, you shall not be disappointed with her… not like with Fabala."

"What shall we call her then? Seeing as I was hoping for a boy I had thought only of male names and I highly doubt that Shell would be as appropriate for a girl as it is for a boy."

"I was thinking that perhaps 'Nessarose' would suit?"

Melena shook her head. "It's too formal, too rigid."

"When you see her you shall see that it really does fit."

"Fine, if you insist," Melena snapped out. "Go now, for I am tired and wish to sleep."

"Very well," Frex said but as he turned to leave Melena grabbed his arm.

"Take the little green monster with you as well, will you?" she mumbled as he eyes began to slide shut from the effects of the pinlobble leaves. "She's bothersome."

Frex nodded and ushered Elphaba off the bed; took a green hand in his own and led her from the room. His green daughter looked up at him in confusion. "I want mama," she said quietly.

"Quiet Fabala," Frex instructed. "Now, do you want to see your little sister?"

Elphaba nodded. "Yes papa," she said.

Frex looked at her sternly. "'Yes papa' what?" he asked and his voice was harsh, commanding.

The green child dropped her head slightly in fear. "Yes papa, I want to see sister," she amended.

"You mustn't touch her, do you know why?"

Elphaba shook her head. "No papa."

"Because you might taint her, do you understand what that means?"

Again Elphaba shook her head.

"One day you will, one day you will…"

Elphaba's green face scrunched up into an expression of confusion but she did not question her father. She fell silent and in less than a minute they were at the door to her new baby sister's room. Frex pushed the heavy wood opened as quietly as he could and they entered in silence. The room was rather large and though plainly decorated it held a large well-made and ancient crib just off center. Frex led Elphaba towards the baby that slept within the carven wood of the crib and hoisted Elphaba up in his arms so that she could see her sister.

Tiny green hands clutched around the smooth wood of the crib's railing and brown eyes peered at the tiny bundle of life that slept contently underneath the white bedding. "Sister?" she asked as she looked up at her father in confusion. "My sister?" She pointed at the baby as she spoke and she seemed to be confused as to what the baby was supposed to mean to her.

"Yes Fabala, she is your sister. Her name is Nessarose, can you say that?"

Elphaba seemed to concentrate greatly for a few moments before she stammered out a feeble, "Ne… Ness… Nessie?" She looked at her father expectantly, waiting for some sort of inclination to whether she had said the right thing.

"That's wrong Fabala," Frex spat out. "But nonetheless, she is your sister whether you can say her name or not." He set his daughter down on the ground and gently pushed her away from the crib. "Go on now," he urged. "Leave your father to be. Go on. Get!"

Elphaba sensed the sudden change of mood in the room and quickly fled from her father's presence. She ran down the hallway as fast as she could and stumbled over her own two feet. She laid still where she fell for a few long minutes as she desperately gasped for breath. In time she stood up again and, for more carefully, made her way to her room. It was far smaller than her new baby sister's room was and the bed was nothing more than an old mattress shoved in the corner and laying on the floor. The floor itself was dusty and cracked and cobwebs had collected on nearly every possible surface that they could. It was clear that neither parent took the time to clean their first-born daughter's room and left such a chore to the child herself even though she had just barely turned three. There was a small dresser placed against the wall that the door was on but it was not even half full for the green child had very few articles of clothing to wear.

She went to her bed and sat down on the edge of the worn straw mattress. She reached out to the pillow of the meticulously made bed and grabbed a hold of the poorly made doll that rested there. Besides the green looking glass that Turtle Heart had given her this was the only toy she had. It was tiny, nothing more than the fabric of an old potato sack with straw shoved into it. It barely resembled the shape of a human body but the green child did not mind, she was just happy to have any sort of toy of her own.

"The child came early, did it not?"

Elphaba started slightly and looked up to find a large black spider dangling in front of her face from a thread of its own web. She smiled. "Hi Sai," she said. "How you?"

"Doing fine," the Spider replied. "Is the child well?"

"Papa say she don't walk. Something wrong with legs." Elphaba shrugged. "He love her."

"There's a lot of different ways to show love."

The green child shrugged again. "Papa love me," she whispered but she didn't seem to really believe her own words. "He must, he my papa."

"That is true," Sai replied. "He is your father."

"He love me." Elphaba twirled the doll in her hands, stared at it, and tried to find within herself the feeling of love. But, having never been truly shown love before, she had no idea what she was searching for.

All she knew was that she was feeling incredibly angry at her little baby sister for stealing away what little attention she had from her parents.


	3. The Birth of Pain

_All she knew was that she was feeling incredibly angry at her little baby sister for stealing away what little attention she had from her parents._

--  
**Chapter Two: The Birth of Pain**

"That's not very odd, to be resentful when a younger sibling is born."

Elphaba looked up from the cup of warm milk she held in her wrinkled hand to lay cold, hurting eyes on Mirelle. "It wasn't resentment," she replied quietly. "I hated Nessarose from the moment she was born. I hated her because she was loved and I was not."

--

Elphaba came in from her trek outside because she had begun to smell the rain on the air and feared being caught outside when the threatening storm struck them. When she entered she took off her waterproof boots and set them neatly in the closet. She was not tall enough to hang up her thick coat so she folded it up and set it down beside her boots before shutting the door behind her – she had to stand on the very tips of her toes to reach the doorknob.

It was then that she heard the soft sobbing. She turned around and from where she stood at the hall closet she could just see a glimpse of her parents as they sat together on the worn couch in the sitting room. She carefully made her way to the entranceway and stood there in silence until she was noticed. She knew not to just barge in or to even make any indication that she was there. If either parent wanted to speak to her they would call for her and she simply had to have patience and wait.

Eventually Elphaba heard her baby sister crying in her playpen across the room. When neither parent moved to comfort the distraught baby Elphaba crossed the room without a second glance at her parents and unlocked the playpen's door. Nessa, now almost one, stopped her wailing the moment Elphaba opened her playpen door. The youngest Thropp daughter tried to drag herself towards her older sister with her arms but Elphaba quickly walked to her and scooped her up, held her close.

"Good girl Fabala," Frex said from where he sat with his wife on the couch. Elphaba turned to look at her father in confusion. "For taking care of Nessa," Frex clarified when he saw his green child's expression. "It is your place to do so. Good girl."

"Yes papa," Elphaba replied quietly as she shifted Nessa in her arms so that she held her baby sister more comfortably. Nessa took her hair in her fists and chewed on it in glee.

"Turtle Heart was killed," Frex said and his voice was shaking slightly as he spoke.

"Killed?" Elphaba asked and it was clear that at her young age she did not have the ability to comprehend what her father meant.

"He died."

"Died?" Elphaba was still utterly confused. "I don't understand papa."

"Stupid child!" Melena spat out through her sobs. "He is gone! Turtle Heart is gone and he will never come back!"

Elphaba flinched at her mother's angry words as if she had been struck. She took a step backwards and held Nessa tighter. "Gone?"

"Dead! Gone! Murdered!" Melena screamed as tears coursed down her face. "He is gone you little monster! Now get out of my sight!"

Elphaba did not need to be told twice and she quickly fled the sitting room and its angry atmosphere. She held Nessarose close to her as she made her way down the hall and into the kitchen. She balanced her little sister on her hip as she carefully maneuvered herself so that she could open the icebox door and grab one of the bottles of milk she had prepared earlier in the day. With the glass bottle in hand she closed the door with her foot and sat herself down on the floor in front of the icebox. She let Nessa rest her back against her chest and held the bottle close to her sister's mouth. Nessa clutched onto the bottle with tiny hands and hungrily drank the milk down. When she was done Elphaba set the bottle on the floor and shifted her sister so that her chest was against her shoulder. She gently patted Nessa's back like she had been taught and soon Nessa burped and then fell asleep. Elphaba gingerly stood up and took Nessa to her room. She looked up at the crib and frowned as she realized that getting her sister into her bed was going to be an insurmountable task.

She exited the room, Nessa still held in her arms, and made her way back to the sitting room. She waited by the entranceway once again until she was noticed as she feared angering her parents by imposing herself on them. In time her father happened to look up from comforting his sobbing wife to notice his eldest daughter watching him. "What?" he spat out.

"I not tall enough to put Nessa to bed," she said quietly.

Frex frowned and jerkily stood up. He crossed the room and scooped Nessa up from Elphaba's arm. The green girl followed her father as he took Nessa to her room and set the sleeping child in her bed; tucked the covers tightly around her. He leaned over the crib's railing and kissed Nessarose gently on her forehead. "Pleasant dreams," he whispered.

He turned around but stopped sharply as he laid eyes on Elphaba. "What do you want?" he snapped.

Elphaba dropped her gaze and twisted her hands together in nervousness. "Nothing," she muttered.

Frex strode from the room and did not spare a second glance at his first born child but as he entered the kitchen a few moments later he noticed something he did not like. "Elphaba!" he screamed. "Elphaba! Get in here right now!"

The green child bolted from Nessa's room and ran to the kitchen, stood in the doorway. "Yes papa?" she questioned.

He stared at her, eyes cold and full of hate, as he pointed at the empty bottle on the floor in front of the icebox. "_What_ is that?" he said angrily. "What is the meaning of leaving such a mess here!"

Elphaba visibly flinched at her father's icy tone. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I forgot."

"You _forgot_!"

"I clean up," she said quickly. "Please, I sorry."

"For Oz's sake learn to speak properly! You're three, aren't you? Time to stop acting like a stupid baby!"

"I four," Elphaba whispered.

Frex threw up his hands in frustration. "I don't care! Clean up this mess now!"

"Yes papa."

Frex shook his head in disappointment then and left the kitchen to return to his distraught wife's side. Elphaba picked up the empty bottle of milk and dragged a chair from the dining table to the wash basin sitting on top of the counter. She climbed onto the chair and set the bottle inside the basin before grabbing the metal pail of water beside it and setting it on the stovetop. She nimbly jumped off the chair and opened the door to the wood stove, saw that it was already stocked with wood, and grabbed the flint and steel from their storage place in the wicker basket beside the stove. She struck a flame and watched as the fire within the stove began to burn before she closed the door and climbed back on the chair to wait for the water to heat up. When it began to boil she grabbed the pail and poured a small amount of the water into the wash basin – careful not to let any of the burning liquid splash on her.

It took her far longer than it would have taken her parents but due to some rather intuitive maneuvering of a rather dirty cloth with two sturdy sticks she was able to get the bottle clean of the milk and set it on the draining rack beside the wash basin. She grabbed a small empty bucket from behind the basin and then emptied the dirty water into that bucket. Despite her best efforts the water still splashed up from the pail as she climbed off the chair and landed on the green hand that held the bucket's handle. She cried out in pain and the bucket slipped from her grasp landed on the floor, and tits contents spilled out around her. She quickly climbed back on the chair as the water spread out across the kitchen floor and she stared at it in horror.

"Papa," she whimpered, knowing that he could not hear her from where he sat in the sitting room. "Papa, mama, please… notice me. Please… help me." She clutched the small patch of skin on the top of her right hand that the water had landed on as the burn stung her painfully. "Papa?" she whispered again but her fear of angering him kept her from calling out for his presence.

So she waited. For almost twenty minutes she stood on the chair in terror and stared at the dirty and threatening water that pooled on the floor around her; kept her from getting off the chair and escaping from the kitchen. It was then that her father came into the kitchen to get a drink from the liquor cabinet and saw the disaster before him.

"What in the –"

"I sorry!" Elphaba blurted out, forgetting that she was not to interrupt her father. "I takes the dirty water outside to empty and it splash up and lands on my hand –" She held out her burnt hand then to prove that she was telling the truth. "– and it hurt so I drops bucket and it spills and I so sorry!"

"Oh, oh Fabala," Frex said and his voice was soft, almost caring. He crossed the wet floor and picked up his terrified and hurting child, took her to the other side of the kitchen and set her down on a dry part of the floor. He might not care much for his eldest and green daughter but a part of him still felt some fatherly feelings towards her and hearing her so distraught brought those feelings bubbling up to the surface. "Here, let me see your hand," he ordered and Elphaba held it out towards him. He took it in his grasp gently and examined the burn. "It's not that bad," he said, more to himself than to his daughter. "Come on, there's some oils in the bathing room that might help to stop lessen the sting." He led her from the kitchen then; took her to the bathing room where he set her on top of the counter. He searched through the top drawer and took out a rather large bottle of oil and some gauze. He spread the oil on Elphaba's burn and then gently wrapped the gauze over her hand, knotting it so that it stayed in place.

"Is that better?" he asked his daughter.

Elphaba looked up at her father and saw what she thought might be a glimmer of love and caring in his eyes. "Yes," she whispered, shocked at how he was not angry at her for spilling the water. "Thank you papa."

"It's nothing. Now, off you go. I believe there's a puddle of water in the kitchen to clean up, is there not?"

Elphaba's face fell at her father's words. "But… but papa… the water… please… the mop too big, I cannot…" she trailed off in fear of the fact that she might burn herself even further in the water on the kitchen floor.

Frex sighed and stared at his daughter for a few moments. "Very well," he said. "Go to your room and think of what you have done. I will clean up the water you spilt but only this one time. Next time you must be more careful, okay?"

"Yes papa," Elphaba said as he picked her up and set her down on the floor. She left before he could change his mind and quickly ran down the hall, ducked into her tiny room. She plopped herself down on her straw mattress meant to be a bed and held her burnt hand out in front of her; examined the white gauze wrapped around it.

She smiled as she came to the realization – as she stared at her injured hand – that when she had hurt herself her father had shown her love. _Is that the key to his love?_ she thought to herself. _Does my pain make him care?_ At her young age Elphaba did not truly understand why her father seemed to love her at rare moments and hate her most other times but this connection between her pain and his love was slowly becoming cemented in her mind. It did not matter that such a belief was desperate and ridiculous – all she wanted was for him to _care_, no matter the cost to herself.


End file.
